Susan Kirby - Your Dream And Mine

“Nice morning,” he said.

Thomasina jumped and fumbled her boxes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Trace stepped out of the line of fire as the lidded cup bounced after the boxes. “Burn you?”

“I don’t think so.” Her whole face disappeared beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat as she ducked her chin, checking her dress.

Trace was checking it, too, though with a different view in mind. A womanly dress, as opposed to those loose-fitting shapeless things that seemed to be all the rage. Eggshell white. Sleeveless with a modest neckline and a fitted bodice. The hem brushed shapely calves, with a slit to the knee for an unencumbered stride.

“It takes a full cup before I get my equilibrium,” she offered by way of explanation.

“You better lay off the coffee. You’re awful jumpy,” he countered.

“Me?” She tipped her face. It glowed a pearly pink in the straw hat frame. “Couldn’t have a thing to do with you slipping up behind me in your sock feet?”

“Just getting the paper.”

“Honk next time, and I promise not to throw boxes at you.”

“Deal.”

She returned his grin with a upsweep of lashes and a chocolate-eyed twinkle, then stooped to pick up the cup just as he was leaning down to do it for her. Her face disappeared under the hat again as his hand closed on the cup the same moment as hers. He let go with a studied nonchalance, and gathered her boxes for her.

“Thank you. I’ll take them now,” she said.

“Let me. You’ll get your dress dirty.” Trace angled her a sidelong glance. “Who’s helping you move, anyway, the queen of England?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“The tea party hat. The dress. Couldn’t help noticing you’re…”

“Overdressed?” She smiled. “Moving is on hold for the day. Mary and I are going to town.”

“Milt’s Mary?”

Thomasina nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Before he could pursue it, she asked, “What about you? You’re not thinking about chopping down the cherry tree, are you, George?”

It took him half a second to realize she was chiding him about the oak tree out at Milt’s. “No, ma’am.” He played along. “You’ve scared me off that project. I’m pulling a porch off an old house instead.”

“Here in town?”

He nodded. “On Church Street just down from Liberty Flats Church. Stop by and I’ll show you around. Not that there’s much to see. It’s kind of an eyesore right now.”

“But with potential?” asked Thomasina, as they neared her car.

“Something like that.” He waited while she unlocked the door.

“Just throw the boxes in the back seat,” she said, and thanked him.

The Penn children raced across the yard as he ambled back to the porch. Trace was about to duck out of sight when he realized Thomasina was the attraction. Thinking they were too late, Winny and Pauly stopped short, disappointment lining their faces.

If it’d been him, he would have pulled away without a second look. But Thomasina rolled down the window and beckoned to them. Trace took his paper inside, poured a cup of coffee, drank half of it and wandered to the front of the house just as Thomasina was pulling away. The children stood on the curb, waving to her. She tooted her horn and returned the gesture.

A regular glutton for punishment. Trace wagged his head, and went back for a refill.

Thomasina admired the composure with which Mary conducted herself throughout a morning of nest hunting which took them to more houses and apartment buildings than she cared to count. They took a break for brunch at a teahouse, then visited retirement complexes until midafternoon. Seeing Mary’s strength waning, Thomasina suggested pie and coffee before starting home.

While they were waiting for their order, Will Chambers strolled past their table. A square-jawed fellow with neatly clipped red-gold hair and his mother’s blue eyes and Nordic good looks, he gave Thomasina a passing glance and would have walked on by except that Mary reached out and caught his hand.

“Hello there, William. Aren’t you speaking today?”

“Mom!” A smile leapt to Will Chamber’s eyes. “I was just on my way out to the farm. What’re you doing here?”

“We’ve been out and about all day. We’re yielding to temptation before we start home,” said Mary. “You remember Thomasina, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

Thomasina traded smiles and pleasantries. Mary beamed at him with a mother’s pride. “Have you eaten, Will? Then have a piece of pie with us, won’t you?”

Will accepted, and took a seat beside his mother. To Thomasina’s relief, the conversation was general with no mention of the decisions Mary and Milt were in the throes of making. When they had finished their dessert, Will offered to drive his mother home.

“That would be nice,” said Mary, with no outward indication of concern over the bombshell awaiting Will at the farm.

Thomasina parted company with them on the street, and returned home to change her clothes and pack some more boxes. It was close to four o’clock when she trudged down the stifling staircase for the last time that day, carrying the roof to her dollhouse.

Sixteen-year-old Ricky Spignalo was bouncing a handball against the brick wall out front as Thomasina came out the lobby door. Six-two in his purple sneakers, baggy shorts and T-shirt with its cut-out sleeves, he leapt to catch a ricocheting rebound angling toward her car.

“Phone’s ringing, Miz Rose.”

“Answer it, would you?” asked Thomasina, keys dangling from her little finger.

Ricky unlocked her car door and reached in. “Yes, ma’am. No, she ain’t busy. She’s right here.” His glance darted to Thomasina. “Ricky. I’m her neighbor. Yes, ma’am. Nice talkin’ to you, too.” He held out the phone. “Miz Baxter. Says if you’re not too busy…”

Thomasina gave Ricky the dollhouse roof. “Back seat, would you please?”

“Shore, Miz Rose. It’s going to be a pushin’ match, gettin’ it in.”

“Careful, it’s my prize possession!” warned Thomasina as she took the phone. “Flo! What a nice surprise.”

“I’ve been trying for three days to get you, sweetheart,” said Flo. “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry, Flo. I’m in the process of moving. I should have called.”

“Moving?”

“Yes, to a beautiful old house in Liberty Flats.”

“Oh, Thomasina! How exciting. Nathan will be thrilled. Ever the financier, you know. He thinks paying rent when you’ve got the resources to buy is money down a rat hole.”

Thomasina was about to correct Flo’s assumption she was buying the house when she looked up in the rearview mirror to see a car pull up behind her. The hard-bitten expressions of the driver and passenger made her uneasy. Seeing them motion to Ricky, she said, “Hold on a sec, would you Flo?” Thomasina reached out the yawning car door and caught Ricky’s arm.

“Ricky? I could use some help moving. Think it’d be all right with your mom if I borrowed you for a few hours?”

“She ain’t here,” said Ricky, turning away from his tough-looking peers. “She’s workin’ over at the dry cleaner’s.”

“Climb in and we’ll buzz by.” Thomasina took the passenger’s seat while Ricky slid behind the wheel. “Buckle up, okay?” she said, and grabbed the phone again. “Flo? You still there?”

“Trouble?” asked Flo, as astute as ever.

“You know what they say about three-day fish.” Thomasina put it in code.

“Stinks like bad company?” Flo picked up on it immediately, for it was she who had recoined the phrase while guiding Thomasina away from a fast crowd in her teen years. “Young Ricky keeping rough company, is he?”